Supernatural One-Shots
by bellatrix-la-dumb
Summary: A series of Supernatural one-shots. Chapter 4: "One hot Fourth of July evening, Sam realizes he has everything he's ever wanted. "
1. Live and Let Die

**Hello everyone! Welcome to my new story! I am very excited about this, especially because I really just want to try something new and get out of my comfort zone a little bit. And I am really interested in the ideas you all may bring to the table, because I am starting to get a little tired of writing about apocalypses and death, but I really just can't come up with anything else.**

 **So here are the rules for One-shot submissions:**

 **1\. If you want to submit me an idea, just write it down in the reviews or PM me if you want.**

 **2\. Please set your ideas within the universe of the show. It can be before the show, during, after, just as long as it is in the Supernatural universe or its canon alternate-universes (though inter-universe travel may be considered).**

 **3\. NO SHIPPING PLEASE! I just don't want to write it.**

 **4\. Try to write your suggestions as full prompts. If you just give me a general idea, I may not know where to go from that. Other forms are accepted, though, such as the three word approach, such as 'Dusk. Impala. Blood.', or quotes from various media or the show itself.**

 **5\. Any subject matter is accepted. I'm sure you know I write about some really dark stuff, so I'm pretty open to whatever your twisted little minds can come up with. (Though, I would stray away from any overly-sexual stuff).**

 **6\. And please just remember that if I don't choose to write your prompt, it's entirely my fault for not being creative enough to come up with a story for it.**

 **So, enough of that. Let's get into the story:**

 ** _Warning: Mentions of suicide. Yes, we are starting off dark._**

* * *

 _ **Sam isn't taking Charlie's death too well.**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1- Live and Let Die**_

It was a beautiful night. The sun was just disappearing behind the forested hills, leaving the sky dripping with splotches of blood red that faded into the deep star-speckled blue swallowing up the last remnants of day. The air was completely still, tainted with an early chill that left my breath hanging in the air and sent slight shivers down my spine despite the sweat that gathered on my forehead. The june bugs were singing off in the distance, calls echoing back and forth, dying off and starting again at an ever higher pitch. In the back of my mind I wondered why the june bugs were still out this late in the year, but the thought was muddled and clouded over quickly as I made my way down the drive.

Because the only thing I could think about as I carried Charlie's dead body to the car was how I wanted to kill myself.

 _You can fucking take care of her,_ Dean had spat at me with a quivering lip and shining eyes as he stomped out of the bathroom to search for any traces left of the Steins. I stood there for another ten minutes before I came to the conclusion that I needed to pay for dragging her into this mess in the first place. But it wasn't until I had finally hefted her limp body into my arms and had seen the full extent of her injuries did my gun start feeling heavy in my waistband. I was already going through the different techniques by the time I had managed to clumsily lay her across the back seat, head hanging lopsidedly over the seat cushion and blood smearing all over the upholstery.

I was frozen there with my hand on the open door until Dean stormed over and woke me from my daze of planning out the best way to atone for what I had done, for everything I had done because it had somehow taken me ten years to realize that I was poison to this Earth, that I was the cause of every problem we faced, and I had only ever made everything worse.

 _The path to hell_ is _paved with good intentions._

It wasn't until Dean slammed his door that I realized I was going crazy.

Like surfacing from dark waters, I was immediately broken from from my trance with a start, a sick feeling churning in my stomach as I realized what I was doing. Taking a deep breath as I shook my head to rid myself of the thoughts, I quickly shuffled into the passenger's seat, remembering the one reason I had never gone through with the plans before. We had things to do. People to save. There was nothing ever changing that. The guilt of leaving my responsibility behind would always outweigh the remorse for my actions. No matter how bad it got, no matter how many people were lost along the way.

And Dean could never survive without me.

* * *

It had taken an hour to set up the funeral pier, an hour just to cut and gather the wood. Dean never spoke a word, never even looked me in the eye. I had stayed inside after we had arrived back at the bunker as Dean went at the trees with an axe like they had been the ones to carve out Charlie's insides. I was afraid he might have wanted to turn the axe on me, choosing to hide away instead of prompting the wrath of the Mark while he was wielding a sharp weapon.

I spent the time at the table in the library where Charlie had been placed until further notice, carefully cleaning the blood from her graying skin and wrapping her in a clean white bed sheet as she lay there, eyes closed in sleep like I had been deliriously convincing myself of through boughts tears and wracking sobs as I tried in vain to scrub her blood from my hands until my own fingers began to bleed.

I carried Charlie to the pier, wrapped tight in that sheet, cradled carefully in my arms, limp legs swaying with each step, head rolling on her shoulders. I was glad that I couldn't see her face as we settled her on top of the wood pile, because I wasn't sure if I could have just stood and watched as Dean struck several matches and tossed them onto the pier as if it were any other ritual burning. All the emotion had left his face. The tears that had shone in his eyes hours earlier were gone, the terrifying rage that had morphed his features when he had snatched up the axe and strode out across the yard had disappeared in favor of the completely blank expression on his face, his eyes holding an emptiness so deep that it scared me more than the barely withheld rage he harbored when he came upon the sight of Charlie's butchered body in that bathroom.

The flames devoured the wood, sending embers dancing up into the dark sky, shining like fiery stars among the thick smoke. I watched as the fire licked at her body, turning the white sheet brown and then black, smelling the burning flesh as we stood in the golden light of the snapping fire.

But then, after hours of silence and evading gazes, Dean, who was the only one who had ever stood by my side no matter what, who always gave me a reason to keep fighting, who was the only reason I was still alive today, turned to me, looked me straight in the eyes and hissed _I think it should be you up there and not her._

And then he left.

And I just wish that he could have known the implications of his words because I finally broke and shot myself three hours later.

* * *

 **Okay, I wasn't planning to start off with that, but the chapter is was going to upload wasn't finished. But, hopefully, there won't be too many other chapters like this, unless you want that, of course. I don't know why you would, though. Also, sorry that this was a bit short. I wrote it when I was half asleep, and I didn't even remember doing it afterwards. That's been happening to me a lot actually. I keep waking up to find new files on my computer full of paragraphs of incoherent text I have to translate into a comprehensible story. . .maybe I need to get more sleep.**

 **But please don't forget to review, and if you have an idea for a chapter I should right, make sure to contact me and tell me all about it.**


	2. Your Time is Gonna Come

**(I sort of edited/rewrote this chapter because it was pretty crappy.)**

 **Hello again! I am so sorry about the long wait! This year has been crazy for me so far, and I haven't had a moment to just sit and write for two months. Sorry that I wasn't able to do one of the submitted prompts. I had about two hours to write and this was all I could think of in that time. Also, I really wasn't expecting prompts like what you all suggested. I forgot just how much this fandom us obsessed with Gabriel.**

 **If you wish to submit a one-shot prompt, make sure to check out the rules on the first chapter, and maybe don't suggest so many prompts about Gabriel, because I'm having a really hard time writing about him. Sorry :)**

* * *

 ** _Sam's time has finally come._**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 2- Your Time is Gonna Come_**

Sam jerked upwards from a heavy sleep as if he had been stuck with a hot iron, gasping for air as the bright light faded from his eyes, head whipping back and forth frantically as he attempted to discern his location.

"Ah, Sam Winchester. I've been waiting to see you for a long time."

The hunter nearly jumped out of his skin as his eyes landed on the source of the soft, purring voice.

"Who are you?" he breathed, eyes wide as they roamed over the dark figure leaning back in a large throne, smirking down at him.

"Not of importance," answered the creature, in the form of a woman of soft features: strawberry blonde curls that tumbled over her narrow shoulders, round face, pale skin dotted with warm freckles, all marred by the wicked grin on her cheeks and the fire gleaming in her large, green eyes. "All you need to know is that your time has finally come.

"What? Where am I?" The hunter snapped, sitting back on his hands, incredulously taking in the unnerving setting of a dimly lit dungeon, face creasing with his ever-growing concern.

"Currently, you're smeared all over Maple Street," the creature quipped amusedly, swinging her legs over the arm of the throne as she picked as her nails nonchalantly.

His breath caught in his throat. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Hit by a drunk driver walking home from the grocery store. Died on impact." Her heavy gaze slid back to the youngest Winchester just in time to see his expression shatter. "Tragic, I know," she pouted.

Sam's whole form slumped forward as if the news were heavy sacks upon his shoulders. Even his eyes felt weighted as they fell to his numb hands curled in his lap, lips dripping with aborted explanations. "But that's not possible, I-I was just- Dean, he-"

"Yeah, yeah, sweetcheeks. I get it. No one likes to accept the fact that they're dead."

"But I can't be-"

"Listen, bub." Her feet hit the ground as she swiveled to face him, elbows on her knees as she leaned down to meet his gaze. The sharp shadows cast from the torches darkened her face menacingly. He swore he could feel the temperature drop. "You've been through this rodeo a few times. I've been doing this long enough to know that you're a special case. But you have to understand that you have to die one day, and I suggest that day be today."

Her piercing glare made the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. He was suddenly aware of the sensation of an iron fist clamped around his lungs, constricting and cold as ice. He was beginning to question if any of this was actually real.

"So, you know the drill," she continued. "Either come with me for a trip to the afterlife or spent eternity on earth as a crotchety old ghost."

His eyes were glued to hers as they bore into his soul fiercely, and he found himself intrigued by the innocence reflected in them. He could see fear hidden under her venomous expression, the apprehension in the tension tension of tension of her fingers clenched on the arms of the throne. It was then that a plan began to form in his head.

Sam's heartbeat slowed just a bit.

"So you're a reaper."

Her face twisted for a moment as she fell back in her seat, momentarily distracted.

"Well, yeah. Of course I am. I thought that was obvious."

"Well, if have taken a particular interest in me, then I'm guessing you are aware that we killed Death." Sam's mind was working at a mile a minute as he tried to map out his points of conversation.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, you naïve little bastards killed him off just to save your own skins. Caused a ruckus up here when we found out. You know, having to restore the natural order of things, and all that," she snapped.

"And then Billie took over, right? Came after our asses with a personal vendetta."

"Yeah, and then you went and killed her too! Anything to avoid death, you two. Doesn't matter how many other people die along the way, does it?"

His stomach twisted at her words, hands clenching in his lap. He looked up at her sincerely as she crossed her arms and turned up her nose slightly in distaste. "I didn't want to do any of it."

Her angry facade broke as he eyes fell back on him, face tightening.

"I never wished to kill any innocent people. I was prepared to die at Dean's hand to save the world, but Dean chose to kill Death to save me, and even though I would have chosen the world over myself, I still respect my brother's choice. When we made that deal with Billie, I had already agreed to die to save my brother and my mother. But when Castiel killed her, he did it in the name of family, he did it to save us, so we could live on and continue to protect others. And even though we broke the deal, I still respect Cas's choice."

He saw her eyes begin to shine before she looked away.

"Well, anyways" she started, "I've taken over the rule to follow through with Billie's wishes of locking up the Winchesters for good, so if you'll kindly let me help you pass on-"

"But, is it really fair to put us in The Empty after all that we have done for the world?"

Her eyes darted back to his, resolve withering. His heart gave a little triumphant jump in his chest.

"That's not up to my judgement. Billie said that you were too stubborn to be put anywhere else, that you have broken out of every eternity we had-"

"That was always to work of supernatural forces, or because we didn't truly belong there in the first place. Billie even said that Death had a part to play, that he believed in our ability to fix things-"

"That was just for his personal amusement."

"Well, even if it was, each time we came back, we always set things right in the end. We always save the world from whatever dangers it faced, we always-"

She suddenly snapped up from the throne.

"Look, I know what you're doing, asshole," she scathed, stabbing a finger at him, "and I'm not gonna fall for it. I'm not letting you live again. Like I said, you're time has finally come, and you're just going to have to accept it."

The room went silent. Her hands were bared at her sides, cheeks red and hair hanging in her face, breaths heaving from her nose. Sam's mouth jerked shut, at a loss of words.

"Sam," the blonde sighed, voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Sam, you have to realize that this all has to end someday. I mean, what are you really living on for? You've stopped the Darkness, killed the devil's spawn, locked up Lucifer for a third time, taken down the British Men of Letters. The world is at peace for the first time in millennia. Maybe you need to find peace with the fact that the world doesn't need you anymore." A small smile formed on her face, and she kneeled in front of Sam, meeting his eyes. "Your family will be fine without you, trust me. They are strong. They know how to cope with death. And they have each other. You don't have to worry about protecting your brother anymore, Sam. He has your mother and Castiel to take care of him. He'll be fine."

His eyes fell to his lap again, watching as a tear slipped from his cheek and landed on his intertwined fingers. His body relaxed as more tears fell, the iron grip releasing itself from his chest as he took in a rattling breath. And he felt. . .free. Free for the first time in a long time. Like the weight of the constant worry had finally been lifted from his shoulders. He felt happy.

He rubbed his warming face, letting out a shaking sigh.

"I-I've been ready for and long time. I've just been too scared-" he was cut off with a choked sob as he pressed a hand to his mouth. He then felt a pressure on his shoulder and looked up to see the girl's comforting hand curled in the fabric of his shirt, eyes watering as well.

"It's okay."

A sad grin grew on his cheeks. "I just didn't think I'd go out via car accident."

She let out a sombre chuckle, squeezing his shoulder. "Yeah, it's pretty tame compared to your other blazes of glory."

He nodded, rubbing the tears from his face. Taking one final breath, he met her gaze resolutely. "I-I. . .I'm ready."

And with that, the girl stood up, reaching down a hand to help up the youngest Winchester. He took it, getting to his feet as a sense of calm rushed over him. Gripping the girl's hand, he closed his eyes, seeing the bright light glow around them from behind his eyelids, feeling the intense warmth wash over his skin.

* * *

 **Not so sad this time! Well, maybe a little sad, but hopefully I won't be writing so many sad chapters in the future.**

 **If you want to submit a prompt, just put it in the reviews or PM me your ideas.**

 **And please, don't forget to give me your feedback. Reviews are sometimes the best part of my day, and I really enjoy reading them.**


	3. What's New Scooby Doo?

**Hello everyone! I am so sorry for the long wait. I've been out of school for the summer for a few weeks now, and I should have finished this chapter a long time ago, but the summer just sucks all the inspiration out of me. Hopefully I will be writing more, because I have a ton of ideas for the this story that I really want you all to read, along with the many great suggestions from you all.**

 **This chapter comes from guest _KyatsRani_ who suggested that** _ **"**_ _ **it would be cool to see something of a crossover fic where Winchesters are investigating a case and meet Scooby Doo gang (or at least young hunters trying to be the gang) doing the same."**_ **Which turned out to be quite the challenge for me. I haven't written comedy in a long time, and I've realized that it is much harder than horror and tragedy, considering you have to be in a good mood when you write it. But I'm pretty proud of how this turned out, and I'm excited to write more comedy in the future, because this was really fun.**

 **If you want to submit a prompt, check the rules on the first chapter.**

 ** _Enjoy._**

* * *

 _ **The Winchester boys run into some familiar faces on a hunt. Who knew**_ _ **Mystery Inc. would be so bad at solving mysteries?**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3- What's New Scooby Doo?**_

The Impala roars down the highway at almost ninety, Dean tapping along to a Led Zeppelin song on the steering wheel as air rushes through the open windows in an attempt to keep cool in the unusually warm October heat.

Sam is hunched over in the passenger seat, his sweat-soaked flannel abandoned beside him as he desperately tries to hold down the fluttering map in his lap.

"Did we really have to take a case in Arizona? I hear that Michigan is delightfully cold this time of year."

Dean snorts, turning to Sam, the empty expanse of road ahead of them reflecting in his sunglasses. "Come on, Sammy. Lighten up a bit. It's just a little heat."

"An unseasonably late heat-"

"If you are going to bring up that global warming bullshit again-"

"I wasn't," Sam snaps. "I was just going to say that we've already been through four months of this insufferable summer, and I'm really getting tired of it."

"Sammy, I didn't know the heat made you so irritable," Dean teases, a smirk growing on his face. Sam rolls his eyes and turns back to the map, smoothing it down once again as it attempts to fly away.

"Okay, okay. Why don't you just run me by the case details again," Dean concedes, seeing the annoyance in the stiffness of his brother's shoulders.

"Uh, okay," Sam nods, rustling through the piles of papers trapped under a heavy Demonology book beside him. "So, there have been a couple bodies found, drained of blood, bite marks, the works. Seems like it would be a vampire, but-" he pulls a specific paper from the pile, holding against the dash as he reads over it, "'autopsies have found a venom-like substance in the body'." He tosses the paper back down on the stack, sitting back in his seat. "So I'm thinking Vetala, probably."

"Okay, so we're expecting two or more, maybe a whole pack. How long has this been going on?"

"About three weeks."

"How many bodies have been found?"

"Four."

"Hmm, so I'm guessing a smaller pack." He darts his eyes over to Sam, who is now watching the arid desert roll by out the window. "You think we need backup?"

"No, we should be fine with a couple silver knives and a bit of prior planning." He pauses, glancing back down to the map and up again at the upcoming exit sign. "You need to get off here."

Dean turns off on the exit just as another song comes on, sending him into a frenzy as he tries to sing the solo and the backup, all while playing the drums on the steering wheel and driving recklessly, causing a sly grin to grow on Sam's face as he shakes his head and searches the signs for the nearest motel.

* * *

It had taken a bit too long to narrow down the location of the Vetala nest; after having to work with bitter coroners and over-emotional relatives of victims it had already been three days before they made any sort of progress. And Dean had made sure to make the world perfectly aware of his agitation that morning over the fact that it was Halloween. It took two cups of coffee and a hefty breakfast burrito to soften his mood enough to get him out the door and on the case again. That didn't stop his complaining, though.

"God, these fucking civvies and all their dumbass issues. We could have been in and out of here in two days tops, but they had to slow us down with their sob stories and their whining. They just had to hold us up until Halloween."

Sam slumps against the car seat and lets his head fall back onto the headrest, blowing a sigh out through his nose. Dean is brooding in the driver's seat, bent over the wheel, mumbling about trick-or-treaters always 'blocking the goddamned streets'.

"Dean, can you maybe stow it for just a few hours? I'd really like to finish this case without hearing your incessant complaining for the rest of the day."

Dean's head snaps back, face terse and mouth a thin line as he glares at Sam, grumbling under his breath while he loosens his white-knuckle grip on the wheel, grudgingly relaxing in his seat.

It is blissfully silent for a few moments, and Sam is almost convinced Dean might heed his command. It lasts all but three minutes until Dean is fidgeting in his seat, other minute for him to finally break and open his mouth to let out a string of protests, only to be cut off when Sam cranks up the radio, blasting AC/DC so loud that Dean can't be heard over it. Sam can't help but grin as Dean lets out a furious huff and slams on the gas, sending them flying down the street.

* * *

"Okay," says Dean, ducking down in the front seat of the Impala as they eye the Vetala nest hidden among the trees. "It's still daylight, so they should be sleeping. I'll go in the front, you'll go in through the back, take out what ever Vetalas you see quickly and quietly, watch the exits so none of them escape, and we'll meet in the middle, then make our way upstairs."

The nest is hidden within an old Victorian-style mansion on the edge of town, overgrown with weeds and eroded by time and the elements. It took a while to squeeze the location out of the locals, seeing as most just knew of the legends surrounding the house and not where it actually was. Most believed it was haunted because, late at night, some said they could hear screaming emanating from deep in the house, naïve teens sneaking in on dares and never returning and such. The usual.

"So, of course," Dean continues, "if you get into any trouble, just call out-Is that the fucking Mystery Machine?"

Sam's head pops up from its place inspecting John's journal on his lap, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline as his eyes fall upon the object that had stopped his brother short.

And if Sam hadn't been through so much weird shit in his life, he would have thought he was dreaming.

Because pulling into the grass-choked lawn of the abandoned house is the fucking Mystery Machine. Any doubts in his mind are immediately eliminated by the blatant lettering across the body of the van spelling out its name. It is painted in those God-awful oranges and blues, just as it was in the show. The both of them can only stare in stunned silence as it rolls to a stop a few yards in front of them.

"Um, maybe they're just big fans of the show. . ." Sam commends, pushing the sweaty hair from his forehead incredulously.

And suddenly the doors of the van swing open and Dean is frantically telling Sam to "Get down!", pushing Sam's head below the dashboard so the won't be seen.

As they listen in with bated breath, a loud giggle drifts through the open windows along with the sound of several shuffling feet and slamming doors.

"Alrighty, gang, let's catch this ghost."

There is moment where the brothers turn to each other with the wildest expressions of complete and utter confusion on their faces, where the absurdity grows too maddening and they can no longer hold themselves back, shedding their sparse cover and peering over the dash to a sight that only adds to the hysteria.

The whole of Mystery Inc. is standing there, dressed head to toe in their gaudy 70s-ware, propped along the side of the van and leaning out of the open back door, looking particularly disheveled and spaced out as they face the beefy guy sausaged into a painfully thin white shirt and some way too small blue corduroys, who they can only assume to be 'Fred'.

"Okay, dudes, we...um, we like are here to snag a fucking ghost."

Sam is already mentally facepalming himself.

The group gives out a lackluster cheer and a couple of drunken snickers, and Sam can already feel the anger rolling off of Dean as they both begin to realize what is going on.

"So, uh, we like are gonna go in there, and we're gonna kill this bitch and save the town." There is another cheer as the group starts to move towards the house. "So, um, let's split up, dudes!"

And Sam is distracted from the group's obnoxious cackling when he hears the Impala's door fly open, the edge of Dean's jacket just slipping out of sight before he can react, frantically jumping out of car and jogging after Dean as he sprints towards the bedraggled bunch.

"Stop! You are not permitted to be on the premises. This is a private property," Dean barks, brandishing his fake ID that Sam knows isn't for the Police Department.

He quickly catches up, out of breath as he digs his badge from pocket, holding it out alongside Dean as his eyes finally fall upon the faces of the so called 'Mystery Inc.'.

The Fred guy is closest to them, hands held up beside his head as he squints his eyes at them, as if he can't really focus on what is in front of him. Up close, they can see that he is wearing a cheap yellow wig, lopsided on top of his head like a furry beret, a woman's red scarf wrapped around his neck. Behind him is who Sam assumes to be Velma, a stout girl with dark skin, dressed in an orange sweater and skirt and chunky black shoes and glasses, her face stern and her arms crossed over her chest. Nearer to the van is a very drunk, very emotional girl wavering in place on platform heels clutching a wine bottle to her chest. He face is hidden by a mass of tangled hair, makeup smeared by the tears running down her cheeks as she quietly sobs, the sleeves of her purple dress slipping down her shaking shoulders. Still sitting in the back of the van is a guy in a stained green shirt and ripped jeans. Sam almost chokes when he see the bong cradled in his lap, the man blinking at them dazedly with a wide smile on his face as he drags his sandals back and forth lazily across the grass with his toes.

"What's going on here, man?" Fred sputters, face red. "We just hanging around, man, it's Halloween."

"Yeah, and this is private property, man." Dean spits, expression tensing. "So I suggest you skedaddle out of here before you end up spending your Halloween locked up for a DUI and possession of illegal substances."

"We're just looking for a little fun, man, everyone comes to the Ghost House on Halloween," Fred scoffs offhandedly, shock still marring his features.

Sam can read Dean's agitation in his pursed lips and stiff shoulders. He is still surprised, though, when Dean suddenly reaches back for his gun tucked in his waistband, grumbling through clenched teeth "Well I'll show you fun-"

"Dean!" Sam's hand is clamped around Dean's wrist in a second, ready to yank him to the side and give him the 'What the hell has gotten into you?' speech, but in that moment, the mismatched group turns in unison as a loud crack! echoes through the yard, the source being the front door of the 'haunted' house, now hanging wide open for all its stunned audience to see.

It seems as if a million things happen at once. The Daphne chick let's out a shrieking sob, falling into the begrudging Velma's arms, desperately begging to leave; Dean lunges forward and grabs the shoulders of the buff guy, spinning him around to shove him towards the van; Sam grabs Dean, trying to stop him, and a shrill bark comes from the darkened back seat of the van, a fat and jiggling bulldog leaping from its depths, scrambling over bong dude and hitting the ground sprinting like Usain Bolt on its short stubby legs towards the house. Fred breaks away to chase after it, tripping through the thick weeds as each swipe at the dog fails, ultimately leading to him smacking face first into the hard ground as the bulldog scampers up the deteriorated steps. They all can only watch in horror as the yapping dog bounds through the open door and disappears into the foreboding darkness of the house, jumping as the door snaps shut behind it.

A bewildered silence settles over the front lawn, each person frozen, eyes locked on the door, as if time had stopped completely.

Dean, eyebrows slowly receding from his hairline, is the first to take in a deep breath and break the silence.

"Shit, please tell me that wasn't supposed to be Scooby Doo."

* * *

"Dude you have to let us get our dog! We can't leave him in there!"

Dean is pushing Fred back towards the van in another attempt to gently persuade them to leave. "I'm sorry, but I can't allow you into the house. I would suggest that you go home and relax and we will bring your dog to you when we find him."

"No! We can't just fucking leave him!" He is struggling against Dean's grip drunkenly, nose bleeding down in chin and dribbling on his sweat-soaked shirt from his brief make out with the dirt. "Please, just let me go in and get him. It'll be really quick!"

The whole scene is a mess. Daphne is slumped against one of the tires, shoes abandoned by her side, wine bottle clenched in her wavering hands as she sobs into it heavily. Velma is crouched by her side, one hand lazily patting Daphne on the back, the other propping her own head up as she watches on, uninterested. Mr. Stoner is perched in the doorway of the van, trying to light up his bong for another hit, swaying precariously as he dazedly attempts to flick on an empty lighter.

"Sir, don't make me take you in- Sir, Sir you shouldn't try to rough up a police officer- Sir!"

Fred finally manages to break away from Dean, stumbling up to the house calling out for his dog, well, he's yelling out "Scooby Doo!", which Sam would guess is definitely not the dog's name; he decides to step in before this becomes a full on theme song, taking his arm and pulling him to face him. He is almost as tall as Sam, bulging with muscles in places he didn't even know you could get muscles, hair cut like every other frat boy you would stumble upon on a college campus, his whole 'hot image' marred by the tears streaming down his face and the childish little sobs falling from his mouth that make it hard for Sam to hold in his laughter.

"Uh, dude, I really don't think you should go in there."

"Why?" He sniffles.

Sam chokes down a laugh and lowers his tone. "Because there is something really dangerous in there that could seriously hurt you and your friends if you don't let us get rid of it."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I can't exactly tell you, but just trust me. We are experts. We will get rid of this thing, save your dog, and get out of here, as long as you stay far away and don't interfere. We are just concerned for your safety, that's all."

Fred scrubs at the blood under his nose with the back of his sleeve, nodding lightly in understanding. "Okay."

"Okay?" He nods again. "Okay, so we just need you and your friends to get in your van and drive out to the end of the driveway and stay there. Lock your doors, turn off your lights, and absolutely don't get out. When we are done, we will bring your dog to you, safe and sound, and you can go home and have fun with the rest of your night."

Sam can see that the man seems overwhelmed, but he nods one more time turns to shuffle back to the van.

Dean storms over to Sam as the gang pile back into the van and drive off. "How the hell did you do that?"

Sam shoves his hands into his pockets, a warm grin growing on his face as he watches the Mystery Machine disappear behind the trees. "I don't know, maybe I have gone all Killgrave and have people do whatever I say."

He turns to Dean, watching as the tension relaxes from his face in the golden light of the setting sun. "Or maybe it's just because I've been to college before and learned how to talk down people like him"

"Oh, yeah, forgot you were a fucking brainiac," Dean smirks as he elbows him in the ribs. "Ready to 'catch this ghost'?"

Sam snorts and starts towards the Impala. "Yeah, I think I've had enough insanity for the next lifetime.

"This is why I fucking hate Halloween, man. People are fucking psychos!" Dean swings open the trunk and tosses him a flashlight. "I'm getting too old for this."

Sam grabs a silver knife and twirls it between his fingers. "I don't know, I still think it's kind of fun."

Dean glances up at him, eyebrows rising. "You think getting drunk and high off your ass and rolling around in the Mystery Machine with a dollar store Mystery Inc. is fun?"

"No," he grins, "But watching them do it is pretty hilarious."

Dean lets out a guffaw and slaps Sam on the shoulder, shutting the trunk and sauntering off towards the foreboding house with Sam in tow.

* * *

The house is huge. Huge and dark and dusty and full of shit.

They enter on their respective sides, padding through the winding halls with bated breath and knuckles white around their daggers. The low light that filters through the moth-bitten curtains and shattered windows does nothing to guide their paths through the maze of overturned and broken furniture, each loud trip punctuated by a muttered curse and a beat of silence as the hunters listen for any movement from within the house. It's a surprise they hadn't already woken up its inhabitants, with all the commotion that went on outside.

Sam wishes Dean was near so he could make a 'it's bigger on the inside' joke. The house really does seem far more extensive than one would believe upon outward glance. He has been searching through room after room with nothing to account for except dust and the sparse and obscuring furniture that is really starting to get on his nerves. After a couple of minutes, he begins to wonder if they were right about the location of the Vetala nest, or if they just fell to convenient myth and legend. And after stepping into pile of some kind of wild animal excrement, he is really starting to question their choice.

Turning around a corner into what he guesses is going to be another empty hallway, he is shocked to walk headlong into another figure, nearly toppling over from the impact.

"Oh shit! Sorry, Mr. Police Officer!" A hand is clamped around his arm, causing his knife to clatter to the ground.

Sam looks up, confounded to see the tall, wide sillouet of Fred looming above him.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" He whisper-shouts. "I told you to stay in the van!"

"Uh, well, I-I thought I could help. . ." He shrugs, voice rising like a teen high on puberty.

"What- goddammit," Sam shuffles to his feet, cursing under his breath sharply. He retrieves his knife from the floor, smoothing down his jacket as he rocks back and for on his feet trying to figure out the best way of getting the guy the hell out of there.

He takes him by the shoulder roughly, attempting to catch his attention, his gaze having drifted across the room and eyes going out of focus. "Hey." He waves his hand in front of his face. "Could you please, please just go back out to your van - carefully - and stay there? I know that may be difficult-"

"Derek!" _Crash!_ "Oh shit! Derek, where are you?"

There is a racket coming from the front of the house, funiture getting knocked over and murmuring voices overlapping in a clatter that is definitely waking up some cranky Vetala who are definitely going to kick Sam's ass for sure now.

"Shit!" Sam spits, grip tightening on his knife as he sprints lightly through the obstacle course of a haunted house, temper rising with every step. If they all live through this, he is definitely running them all over with their dumbass stoner Mystery Machine.

Sam turns the corner into the entryway to find the slightly shell-shocked knock off Mystery Inc. jumbled together in front of the door, Shaggy fruitlessly attempting to hang up a painting that must have been the culprit of the large crash he heard earlier. Though, it seems that he is holding it upside down, more or less rubbing it around along the wall and waiting for it to catch.

"Oh! Police Officer!" Daphne shuffles up to him on bare feet, brushing the hair away from her makeup-smeared face, eyes still watering. "Do you know where Derek is? He-he came in here, I told him- I begged him not to. I told him that it was dangerous, but-but, he w-went anyway." She breaks down into hiccuping sobs, dropping her head into her hands as Velma comes forward to pull her away with an apologising nod.

"Uh, yeah, he's right back there," Sam says, guesting over his shoulder, realizing that it probably was a bad idea to have left him alone. "But you all just stay right here, I'll get him, and you all will go back out to your car and stay there until we are done." He feels as if he has to enunciate each word just to get through their intoxicated haze. The level of recognition on their faces doesn't do much to assure him, but as he is about to just give up and go to check up on the other guy, a high-pitched scream sounds out from within the house.

"Derek!" Daphne calls out, dashing past him before he has time to stop her, and the only thing he can think is _That was Derek?_

"Hey! Stop!" He runs after her, mentally sighing as he hears the other two following suit. _Man, I'm really starting to understand why Dean hates Halloween now._

"Derek! Derek!" She warbles, swaying and listing as if the floor is rocking beneath her, shoes dangling from one hand and bottle spilling out of the other. He quickly catches up the her and pushes her behind him, baring his knife as they come nearer to the source of the growing clamor, the shadows of two struggling figures revealing themselves as he steps through a doorless doorway. He can hear Daphne's slobbering sobs and Velma's hushed consoling as well as the muffled cracks and smashes of fighting ahead of them. He inches forward, trying to discern the moving shapes. Holding out an impeding arm to the group behind him, he prepares to make a grab for the figure he assumes to be the Vetala. And just as he is about to take a wild guess and hope for the best, one of the figures is pushed straight into him, knocking him into a Grandfather clock behind him, his head smacking into its face. There is a moment of blind fumbling and a bit of accidental groping as the clock begins to tumble forward. Sam is only just able to scramble out of the way before it crashes to the ground in a cacophony of chiming bells and shattering glass on top of the other figure.

"Shit man, that was sick."

In his astounded daze, Sam glances up to see Derek standing above him with a wide grin on his face, eyes dropping down to the unconscious Vetala trapped under the enormous Grandfather clock. In a breath, he snatches his knife from the ground and plunges it into the creature's chest, distantly hearing the disgusted gasps as it shrivels and dies, pressing his eyes closed as the wave of irritation crashes over him with a heavy sigh.

Staring daggers up at the triumphant Derek, Sam gets to his feet, hands clutched at his sides.

"Did it bite you?" He questions through clenched teeth.

The dumb grin falls from Derek's face, caught off guard. "Huh?"

"Did it bite you?" Sam repeats, slower this time.

"Bite me? No. It's not some kind of vampire or something," he scoffs.

"Yes it is 'some kind of vampire or something', a kind of monster that can bite you and suck your blood and inject poison into your veins that sedates you and turns you into Vetala chow." Sam seethes.

"Wait, monster?" Velma exclaims, eyes going wide. "So you're saying that you just killed that dude?"

"No-no." Sam presses his fingers into his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "No, it's a monster. Not a spooky ghost like on your kid shows, not someone in a dumb costume. It's a Vetala. Like a vampire/snake combo meal. Like from the legends and myths passed down through generations, because those legends were real. Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, wendigos, the lot. Okay? So there's your Halloween ruined for you."

Looking around, he can tell he hasn't gotten through to any of them. He didn't expect to.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Sam thinks he might collapse from relief at the words. He turns to see his brother leant in the doorway, flashlight sliding around the room as he takes in the scene with furrowed eyebrows and a slight smirk.

"Things got a little out of hand." Sam breathes.

"Sure looks like it. Cleared the floor, without much of your help, I might say."

"Well, I've been busy."

* * *

"Frat boy," Dean calls, knocking on the window of the Mystery Machine. "Got your dog."

Sam holds up the wriggling bulldog in his arms as Derek's face breaks out in a grin.

The door flies open, and Derek scoops the dog into his arms, hugging it close as it attacks his face with its slobbery tongue.

"Found him hiding in a rusty old bathtub upstairs, unharmed. Practically shit himself when I pulled open the curtain. But he seemed pretty happy to get out of there," Dean relays affectionately as he pets the dog on the head.

"Thank you so, so much. I don't know what I would do without my Scoob," Derek says, scratching the dog's chin as it pants contently.

"Wait, is that really his name?" Sam questions jokingly.

Derek looks up at them, face serious. "Yeah, Scooby Doo."

Dean and Sam look at each other with raised eyebrows, not really knowing how to comment.

"Uh, so did you get rid of the problem?" Derek whispers, gesturing towards the house.

"Yeah, it's all taken care of. You should be having any more issues. Completely safe for costumed college students to sneak into in the middle of the night for whatever they think is so fun about voluntarily going into haunted houses," Dean assures, giving a tight smile.

"I. . . I'm really sorry about that." He casts his eyes down as his cheeks grow red with embarrassment. "It was really dumb of us to come out here. We were drunk and excited about Halloween. I guess we went a bit too far. I mean, I could have been killed, could have got my friends hurt. I'm sorry we kept messing everything up."

"Eh, no problem. People get drunk all the time," Dean says, leaning up against the van. "And considering you've sobered up a bit, I would recommend you go to a big party and get so smashed you won't remember a single thing from tonight."

Sam almost wants to reprimand him with a good smack upside the head, but he can't help but wish to do the same. Forgetting tonight and falling into an alcohol induced sleep seems like a good idea at the moment.

"Yeah, sounds like a plan, but I think I better get my friends and dog home safe before anything else happens."

Shaggy pops his head in from the backseat, leaning over to give Scooby a pat on the head. "Uh, officer dudes, do you, like, have any like, um, food or anything? Like, I've got a serious case of the munchies."

"Don't you have any Scooby Snacks you can 'munch on'?" Dean smirks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Shaggy gives a confused shake of his head, slipping out of sight again.

"Uh, well. . ." Derek continues. "Thanks again for dealing with us. I mean, you saved our lives. I feel like I can't thank you enough."

"Yeah you can. It's fine. This is our job. We save people's lives for a living," Dean says.

"Does that make you some kind of superheroes or something?"

"If superheroes wear the same underwear for three days straight and live off gas station hot dogs," Sam chuckles.

"Well, I guess that's better than dressing up as your hero and putting yourself in harms way to try and be like them," he looks down again, a bit of shame in his voice.

"Hey," Dean claps him on he shoulder, "You can dress up as whoever you want, though I would probably do it in the safety of your own house."

Derek snorts, putting Scooby on the seat beside him, turning the key in the ignition. The van rumbles to life, headlights flickering on as he shifts it into gear.

"I'm gonna get these kids to bed. I don't want to deal with a bunch of drunk college kids for the rest of my Halloween night. I think I'll just turn in and watch some slasher flicks."

"Always a good choice," Dean chimes in.

"You guys keep doing your thing, keeping the world safe."

"And you keep doing what ever college kids do."

"Studying so they can get good grades?" Sam quips.

"I was going to say partying or whatever, but you do you, kid."

Derek nods with a warm smile, closing his door and pulling away with a wave as he rolls down the drive and turns off onto the street.

"Wow, I'm ready to sleep for a week," Dean sighs, throwing his head back.

"Yeah, I think I might have pulled a few muscles trying to get that dog down the stairs."

Dean turns to Sam, the ghost of a smile gracing his face, making his eyes crinkle. "Tired of Halloween yet?"

Sam spins around, an expression of mock offense on his face. "What? No. I love Halloween. It's my favorite holiday."

"Yeah? Cause you like dressing up in little kid costumes and going trick-or-treating."

A sly grin unfurls on Sam's cheeks. "No, because all the candy is on sale the day after."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," he replies jokingly as they begin to walk back to the car.

"And what about all the girls in those God-awful 'sexy nurse' costumes? I thought you loved that."

"You know I'm too old for that, Sammy. I can't exactly slide into a sorority Halloween party and expect them not to call the police. I mean, you probably could work it, but I'm far too mature for those types of antics."

"Oh really. Do you only go for older women now?"

"Oh yeah, I'm real classy," Dean said, slipping into the driver's seat of the Impala and closing the door behind him, Sam doing the same. "Women are like fine wine. They need time to mature."

Sam raises his eyebrows, mirth glowing on his cheeks. "Oh yeah? I don't remember you being such an expert on women."

Dean starts up the car, giving Sam a playful look. "I have a 'professional womanizer' licence to prove you wrong."

Sam throws his head back in laughter as the crackling music on the radio fades in, and the two brothers fall into a comfortable silence framed by the hum of the Impala's engine as it rolls down the dirt drive and onto the moonlit street leading into town.

* * *

 **Hope I made you laugh. I felt personally connected to this chapter, considering pretty much all of my childhood was spent watching Scooby Doo because my sister was absolutely obsessed with it. I mean, I pretty much wrote this entire chapter just for her. Doubt she'll read it though. She likes to make fun of me for writing fanfiction.**

 **If you have an idea for a chapter I should write, don't be afraid submit it! Don't worry, I don't bite.**

 **And please, don't forget to review! Reviews make my day all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns, so I would really appreciate it if you left some feedback about this chapter.**


	4. The Odd Uneven Time

**This suggestion again comes from _KyatsRani_ asking for "** _ **something fluffy and domestic with the Winchesters in the bunker, early season 9, so Kevin's still there with them, and maybe Charlie can come and visit".**_

* * *

 ** _Sometime around season 8 or 9. One hot Fourth of July evening, Sam realizes he has everything he's ever wanted._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4- The Odd Uneven Time**_

It was a beautiful night.

Mid-summer sunset blooming on the tree-speckled horizon, the pasty heat settling on the skin as the ground cooled and the air began to shutter with the songs of restless crickets, the screams of cicadas echoing through the night.

I felt inexplicably warm. Not just from the caniculan swelter, but from deep within my chest, a warmth that bubbled up my throat and pulled my mouth into a smile, made my fingertips tingle.

Sat cross-legged on a worn blanket spread across the grass, a sweating beer bottle grasped in my hand, I just watched, so overcome with that warmth that I all I wanted to do was sir back and take it all in.

Dean was smiling, laughing. His eyes creased with the widest grin as he propped himself up upon an elbow on the blanket beside me, chuckling as Charlie attempted to throw grapes into his open mouth, missing every time. Empty plates and dirty napkins littered the dewy ground, left over from a hearty dinner of grilled burgers and hot dogs, all courtesy of Dean.

Kevin leant against a travel-weary cooler, twirling a long piece of grass between his fingers, eyes bouncing back and forth as the grapes flew through the air, occasionally picking up a piece of ammunition that missed it's target and rolled his way, popping it into his mouth.

The joyous sounds of laughter hung upon the chaste breezes, danced along the purpled outlines of gauzy clouds, stark against the wavering golden glow blossoming from the bloodied sun balancing upon the horizon. Fireflies blinked like Christmas-lights against the dark sillouet of the bunker, windows alight with the flush of old, yellowed light bulbs. The voices soon broke out in song, held together by broken harmonies and the cracked tones of alcohol-burned throats. The three swayed along to the warbling melody, holding their beer bottles aloft like flaming lighters. I couldn't help but sway along as well, the words of the song soon finding their way onto my lips.

As the sky smoldered into a deep cerulean blue, the stars twinkled into existence, a sparkling spray of light interlaced with the stunning sight of the milky way. I hadn't seen it in a long time. The heavy light and smoggy skies from the raucous and bustling cities always blocked it out. Out here in the countryside, the sky was aglow with the drifting clouds of distant stardust, a sea of color in the clear black sky.

My eyes fell back upon the intoxicated group, their song loosing structure as their voices slowly died down into quiet mumbles punctuated by drunken snickers. My cheeks almost hurt from smiling. It felt like decades since I had done it. My beer was warm, only half-empty, propped against my thigh, almost forgotten. The food sat warmly in my stomach, unlike the greasy and unfulfilling diner food that we had been living on for so long, along with the stress and tension that made for unsettled stomachs and long sleepless nights. I glanced back at the bunker once again, silently thanking any god that might be left that we had finally been given a stable roof to live under, a place to sleep each night, a place to protect us, somewhere to go back to after long and taxing hunts. A home.

In turning back around, my gaze caught on Cas, sitting hunched over to the side, a beer bottle clutched loosely between his fingers. He was watching as well, eyes locked on Dean, Charlie, and Kevin as they gleefully clinked their bottles together and each took large swigs in the growing darkness as the moon shone bright in the sky like a glaring car headlight. I watched as an amorous smile formed on his face, fingers absentmindedly picking at the bottle's peeling label, eyes bright.

Almost aware of my stare, he turned to me, a knowing look on his face as his smile widened minutely. I'd never seen the expression on his face before. But I knew what it was. It was the same expression I wore, the same feeling Dean bore in the lilt of his shoulders as he dropped his gear in the entrance of the bunker and ran off to the shower with an appeased sigh. The same sentiment we had every time we lay in bed at night, our own beds in our own rooms in our own home, free of dirt and grime and water stains and most of all, monsters. Relief.

A soft laugh broke from my mouth just as the world exploded with color. Cheers pierced the air, overpowered by the ear-rattling crack that echoed across Plains. I blinked the residual blur of blue from my eyes, opening them to see another burst of gold in the distance. The fireworks shot into the sky, rockets of glittering blue and red and gold, erupting into flowers of flame that drifted like dandelion seeds through the air. Dean and the others were screaming and pumping their fists in the air in like wild monkeys. Another laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I couldn't hold it back. Soon I was cheering along as well, watching as their jubilant faces were lit up by the bright flashes, listening to their joyous cackling as the show went on.

Again, I looked up to the stars, internally calling out to any being that could hear me, and in the midst of the storm of sound and light, I closed my eyes and prayed eternal gratefulness for being graced with a family I never had but always wanted.

* * *

 **I hope this is fluffy enough for you! I just have been listening to Kesha's new album for three days straight, so I was in a really good mood. I don't know how this ended up being set on the Fouth of July, considering it was over a month ago and I didn't even celebrate it. It just seemed to fit.**

 **Sorry about the long wait. I honestly completely forgot about this. School just started and I haven't watched Supernatural in so long that I kind of forgot it existed. . .**

 **Also, I realized that pretty much every single one-shot I've written for this is in Sam's perspective. Didn't realize I was that much of a Sam girl. But seriously, I have about 12 chapters outlined and started on and all of them are in Sam's POV except for one. It just naturally occurred that way. I didn't even plan it out like that.**

 **Anyways, reviews make me very happy, very much like Kesha's _Boogie Feet_ makes me want to dance my ass off, so make sure to tell me what you thought of this chapter, and if you have any ideas for new chapters, makes sure to check the rules for submissions on the first chapter and send in whatever you come up with!**


	5. IMPORTANT MESSAGE!

Hello everyone. I just checked and realized that it has been six months since I have updated this story. Honestly, it's felt like much longer for me. I'm sorry I didn't inform you on any of this, but a few months ago I decided to set writing to the side for the time being in favor of putting all my effort towards applying for college and doing all the other stuff we have to do senior year.

Now that things are starting to slow down and I have more time on my hands, I hope to get around to updating this story soon. It's not like I'm out of ideas or anything. I have like ten chapters that I have started writing but have never finished, and a whole other list of ideas from you all and stuff I've come up with that I haven't even put into words yet. I hope to be able to update soon, but I can't promise anything yet.


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